Christmas Lights
by ThatRavenclawBitch
Summary: Every year, Mr. Gold hangs Christmas lights in the hopes they'll guide Belle home to him.


_Those Christmas lights light up the street_  
 _Maybe they'll bring her back to me_  
 _Then all my troubles will be gone_  
 _Oh Christmas lights, keep shining on_

* * *

He wasn't sure why he still did it. She liked them, he guessed, and he would always do anything to make her happy, even now.

He knew the town thought he was crazy. Old Mr. Gold out here on a rickety ladder hanging Christmas lights on his house. Most were probably hoping he'd take a fall, that the ladder would give way beneath him and he'd plunge to his death and maybe they'd never have to pay their rent again. He'd never been the most popular man in town and that had only gotten worse since she left. People had tolerated him for Belle's sake. Without her, they didn't have to pretend anymore that he wasn't the odious creature he is. He supposed, on days he was given to self-reflection, that he didn't make it easy. He'd never been an easy man to like. Only one person had ever tried to get past the rough exterior. She'd come in and lit up his whole life and for a shiningly beautiful period of time, he had been truly happy.

Back then Christmases were spent with her, curled up on the couch watching the snow drift down silently past the windows. She'd always make hot toddies, put on that old Bing Crosby album and hum along, slightly off tune, to "White Christmas". It was the most beautiful sound in the world to him and if he closed his eyes and shut out the world around him, he could still hear it, as though she were still there in his arms.

It wouldn't be a white Christmas this year, and it made him sad. Belle loved snow, but it had been an unseasonably warm December for Maine and not one flake had fallen yet this year. The front lawn was nothing but slightly brown grass, the hedges far too green in contrast.

It hardly felt like Christmas at all, despite the festive state of the exterior of his home. Gold stood back, surveying his work. The front columns were wrapped in red velvet ribbon and twinkle lights, white glittering lights hung from the eaves and across the roofline. He'd even gone to the trouble of hanging festive lanterns in the large tree out on the lawn. If Belle decided to return this year, she would know she had never left his mind. She would know that he'd always loved her and always would, despite everything.

Nothing he loved ever lasted, and yet he persisted.

It was only a few days until Christmas. He'd waited until the last minute to hang the lights this year. After years of disappointment, he'd almost given up hope that she'd ever return. But when it came down to it, he couldn't let a Christmas go by without Belle's lights. He was a silly old man and a fool.

By the time Christmas Eve arrived, he'd mostly given it up as another wasted year. Belle wouldn't come home. He knew it in the deepest recesses of his heart. She was gone and she wasn't coming back. Why would she?

Despite it all, he made himself a hot toddy, using the same brand of whiskey and the same blend of spices Belle always had. He pulled out the old Bing Crosby vinyl and placed it on the ancient phonograph in the den. He sat down on the big leather sofa, facing the big bay window, and stared out at the darkening skies and grassy lawn. No snow after all. He waited.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, the warmth of the fire in the hearth and the whiskey in his belly lulling him into unconsciousness. He'd slumped to the side, his neck bent awkwardly as his head rested on the arm of the sofa. Perhaps it was the uncomfortable position that had woken him, but his eyes snapped open and he sat upright. The grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight, chiming out into the empty house. The Bing Crosby record had ended, still spinning and crackling on the phonograph. Otherwise, the house was silent.

It was Christmas day, and Belle hadn't come home.

Gold rubbed a hand against his face, feeling the rasp of stubble across his cheeks. It was late. He should go up to bed, rest up for another Christmas day spent alone. Another year spent alone.

It was then he noticed it, a flash of white drifting past the window. Then another. Soon there were large flakes coming down in silent waves, blanketing the yard in white. Gold smiled in spite of himself.

"The snow is beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked from behind him. Gold spun around, almost falling off the sofa with surprise. It was a voice he hadn't heard in five achingly long years.

"Belle," he managed to rasp out, his voice hoarse.

She smiled at him, moving closer in the dim light of the den. The fire had smoldered down to a few glowing embers, the bulk of the light streaming in through the bay window, a combination of moonlight and the twinkle lights hanging from the eaves.

When she reached the sofa, she knelt down in front of him, one warm hand resting against his knee. She looked ethereal, here in the moonlight. She looked as young and beautiful as she had on their wedding day, her dark hair spilling over her pale shoulders, her blue eyes bright and vibrant and alive. So different from the last time he'd seen her.

"You came back to me," he exclaimed. But Belle just shook her head, cupping his cheek with her hand.

"I never left. I've always been here with you."

"The lights," he said. He was babbling now, but he couldn't help it. It was too damn good to see her after all this time. "I put them up every year, just for you. I thought maybe they'd guide you home."

"I know," she said, her eyes shining with tears. "I saw them."

"I missed you so much, my darling." He couldn't help the tears falling now, spilling across his stubbled cheeks. Belle was here, her palm warm against his skin. She wiped away his tears with her thumb, her eyes never leaving his as though she were trying to drink in his presence the way he was hers.

"Can you stay?" he asked, already knowing it was futile. She would leave again. She always left.

Belle shook her head, bringing her hands up to run through his hair.

"You know I can't," she said, bringing her forehead to rest against his. He could smell the soft scent of her, floral shampoo and a whiff of the gingerbread she would always make this time of year. He shut his eyes, letting her scent envelop him. He never wanted her to leave.

His hands clutched at her waist, pulling her as close to him as possible. His fingers twisted in the silky fabric of her nightdress, clinging tightly. Maybe if he refused to let go, dug in with both hands, she wouldn't leave.

"I have to go, sweetheart," she said, her voice achingly soft like her hands in his hair and her skin beneath her silk gown. She had always been so soft, the counterbalance to his harshness.

"No," he said, gripping on to her even tighter. His voice was keening, a whine, at another time it would have embarrassed him but not here. He needed her with him no matter how he had to prostrate himself.

"It's okay," Belle assured him, her hands still softly petting his hair. "I can't stay here, but you can come with me. We'll never be apart again."

He looked up at her then, at the beaming smile on her face, the unshed tears brightening her eyes.

"It's time?" he asked. Belle nodded in response, taking one of his hands in both of hers as she stood. For the first time, Gold looked down at his own body. His chest was broader than it had been earlier that evening, no longer skinny and sunken. His arms felt stronger, the persistent pain in his right ankle was gone. He had no doubt that if he found his way to a mirror, his reflection would show a face much less lined than he was used to and hair that was more brown than silver.

"It's time," Belle repeated his words. "To go home. Together."

Gold let her pull him up to stand, his joints no longer aching with the movement. Her hand held on tightly to his as she led him through the darkened house and out the back door. He didn't even feel the biting cold against his bare feet. He was with Belle and they would never be separated again. It was enough to keep him warm through any storm.

Outside, the Christmas lights reflected brightly against the new fallen snow, and inside, Mr. Gold passed on with a smile on his face.


End file.
